


Family Bonds

by homunerd



Series: 2020 Fódlan Summer Olympics [11]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sports, F/M, Fodlan Summer Olympics, M!Byleth - Berith, M/M, taikwando
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:08:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26159296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homunerd/pseuds/homunerd
Summary: “Fighting is not the answer to everything.” His father had said, years ago.And it wasn't, but it took a very long time to realize he was right.Berith struggles as he fights for gold, but his family is there to cheer him on.
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth, Jeralt Reus Eisner & My Unit | Byleth, Jeralt Reus Eisner/Sitri Eisner | Byleth's Mother, Jeritza von Hrym/My Unit | Byleth, My Unit | Byleth & Alois Rangeld, Sitri Eisner | Byleth's Mother & My Unit | Byleth
Series: 2020 Fódlan Summer Olympics [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1881421
Comments: 10
Kudos: 24





	Family Bonds

“Fighting is not the answer to everything.” His father had said, years ago. Berith had been taken into the principal's office after breaking two boys’ noses in the school yard. He was eight at the time, with a busted hand and a black eye. Anger burned, red and hot, inside of his chest. 

They had tried to slander his family name. They tried to slander _him_ , with words and phrases that would have gotten them suspended.

It was the first real experience that opened his eyes to the world and how it could be so cruel. So unforgiving. 

He still remembered that day, when he came home. Byleth was sitting on the couch, a popsicle stick poking out of her mouth. She was next to their mother, who had immediately asked what had happened. 

Berith remembered his father just shaking his head and directing his son to the master room. There he sat down heavily on the bed, patting the space beside him.

“There is honor in fighting. There are rules, standards.” He sighed running a hand through his hair. “It is important to hone your emotions into positive outlets. Those kids, they’re not worth the time or energy. You’re a good kid, Berith, don’t stoop down to their level.”

His father left him with a slap on the wrist and questions in his head. 

About two days later he got into another fight. Two different boys, but the same anger and the same disaster. The principal had said he was one strike away from being suspended for a week.

This time, it was his mother who picked him up and sat down with him.

It was… his mother that sparked something within him.

“It’s never about the kicks being thrown.” Sitri had said to him, gently, as he laid his head on her lap. She had called him into her bedroom that day after letting him cool down. “Or the blood that may be shed. It’s about the emotion-” she pressed a finger to his chest, next to his heart. “Right here.” 

Her voice, while soft and caring, held raw emotion that struck to his core. He grasped at his chest and looked up at her. She smiled, staring down at him. “Actions may speak louder than words, but the bigger person knows when to stop the fight.” 

“But they started it.” He said, frowning. “They were the ones to throw the first punch.”

“But it was you who continued it.” His mother brushed through his hair and he closed his eyes. “Emotions are confusing and you can get swept up in the moment, but always remember my sweet, they will disappear with time. You need to keep your attention on the task at hand rather than the flame in your chest. Sometimes, letting the fight end is better than letting it burn out. The consequences never outweigh the satisfaction.” 

She had let him go after that, but those ideas lingered in the back of his head whether he truly understood them or not. 

Fifteen years later he stood watching the other fighters practice with his arms crossed over his chest. His father brought up the idea of teaching him Taekwondo after searching for an outlet. He stuck with it ever since.

“How do you feel?” He turned to see his sister standing next to him. “ _Bob_.” 

His twin. Not necessarily the better of the two, but definitely more popular. She was the god of the pentathlon, and built for it as well. She got all of their father’s genes, with wider shoulders and a sturdier build. 

Berith got more of their mother’s physique. Still sturdy, but slimmer arms and softer features. His hair was more manageable, straight versus the wild cowlicks that seemed to pervade through his sister’s long hair.

They were two sides of the same coin, though one more prominent than the other.

Berith rolled his eyes. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” He blinked, leaning his head forward as the fighter he was watching failed to completely turn his hips. He shook his head and sighed. Probably would miss the shot. “ _Brenda_.” 

She snorted and pushed him. “That’s good, I was worried you’d be training non-stop and wearing yourself out before you even go on.” 

He rolled his eyes, pushing her back. “That sounds more like you. What are you doing here, I thought you had warm ups?” 

Byleth laughed. “I have a message from Dad and Captain, they want to talk to you before you warm up and hit center stage.” She winked. “I hear there's going to be an interesting pep talk.” 

Berith winced. He really didn’t want to go into the locker room now. “And Mom?” 

“Said she would be waiting for you to call her, after you were done with them. She’ll get off for lunch whenever you do.” 

He sighed in relief. “Good.” 

“They’re not that bad.” Byleth said.  
Berith looked at her and they locked eyes before laughing. 

“Sure, not bad.” Berith rolled his eyes. “I distinctly remember a pentathlon you were in that they were not that great either.” 

“One time.” His sister waved it off. “Watching them flounder around made it worth it though.” 

“The posters were a bit much.” 

“The posters,” Byleth groaned. “Don’t remind me, Mom had the cut out faces hanging on the wall for weeks. I couldn’t even think straight while doing my homework with my own face staring down at me.” 

Berith looked at her again and she just rolled her eyes at him. 

“Yes I know, I’m not straight. Don’t need to remind me every time I say the word.” 

He chuckled, turning back to the arena. They were at the five minute break. “You make it too easy.” 

“Yeah well.” Byleth paused as she watched the fighters retake their stances. “Anyways, that tall blond you were talking to after that swim practice came up to me and asked if I knew you. He was really awkward about it though.” 

“Jeritza?” Berith blinked. He didn’t expect him to talk to Byleth, of all people. “What did… you say?”

“Told him yeah, I’m his sister.” Byleth glanced at him. “He looked kinda relieved and then said to tell you to have good skill.” 

“Ah.” A few days ago, Berith had offhandedly said that to the swimmer in passing, not thinking anything of it. Fast forward to yesterday, when the blond had deliberately found him and drawn him into an hour conversation on the philosophy of competition. Though unexpected, Berith had found the conversation interesting. They ended up agreeing that ‘good luck’ was incorrect. It didn’t matter what luck you had, but rather the skills you required. 

Berith rubbed his neck bashfully. “Thanks.” 

“You sure you guys don’t have a thing?” His sister raised an eyebrow. “It seems kinda obvious he’s into you.” 

“We just met.” His response was a bit too fast and he realized his mistake as Byleth raised her eyebrows a centimeter higher. “We’ll see.” 

“If you need a wingwoman I’m here.” She lightly punched his shoulder.

He laughed, and repeated, “We’ll see.” 

They watched in silence as the third round ended with a quick spinning hook kick to the head. Ouch, even with the padding it must have hurt. 

“I’ll see you after?” He asked her to step back from his spot. 

Byleth nodded. “Yeah definitely. We’ll celebrate by doing a five mile run.” 

“I like the sound of that.” 

They bumped fists. He took a step forward to go to the changing room. 

“Oh yeah.” 

He looked behind him. 

Byleth grinned. “Good skill.” She was teasing him at this point.

Berith rolled his eyes before matching it. “You as well.” 

\------

The locker rooms always smelled like sweat.

Sweat, and something else, body odor, maybe. Though clean, the clothes and hustle of people lingered. 

Inside there weren’t many people. A few members nodded to him in acknowledgement as they strapped various pads around their body. 

He found his father standing in front of his locker, arms crossed. 

At a glance, Jeralt was intimidating both in height and in status. Winner of a variety of different sports, he was a lot like Byleth, being a jack of all trades in his younger years. The news had painted his name across the cover of major articles published whenever the Olympics came around. Thousands of people swooned over him, over his achievements, and over his bold, yet gentle personality.

Now aged and retired, he still had the charm and the charisma. According to Berith’s mother, he even looked the same, though thirty years had passed since then so Berith was inclined to believe otherwise. 

“Berith.” Jeralt’s posture immediately relaxed, his arms falling to his side. “I’m glad I caught you.” 

“Byleth said you would be here.” Berith tilted his head. “You wanted to speak to me?” 

His father nodded and straightened. “Yes, but after your warm up. Don’t want to miss your time slot.” 

Berith nodded, unzipping his jacket. Handing it to his dad, he grabbed the dobok, slipped it over as well as the loose white pants. 

Starting from the bottom, he put on the foot and shin pads, then moved to the torso hogu which always felt so bulky. He then strapped on his forearm and hand pads. Lastly, he grabbed his helmet. The shiny blue glinted back at him, he could see a few of the seams opening to show the foam. 

He’d have to get a new one soon. 

Tucking it under his arm he turned to his dad. “Ready.” 

“Alright, let’s go, Alois will be waiting in the lobby.” 

The walk back was filled with sparse talk. Every so often Berith would look up at his father and just, truly look at him. 

The most prominent feature were the scars on his face, making it rougher than it was.

Byleth had told Berith, one day, years ago, that their father had been in an accident, though she never elaborated. His sister had tried and tried and tried to pry the answer of how old he was or what happened back then, but their father would always just laugh it off or deflect. 

Berith had looked, just once, for articles on the matter. Since he was so famous there must have been something?

For how much he was known, there was nothing. 

There were a few editorials and opinions on his wins, the very few losses, and his retirement. They dubbed him the “Body Breaker”, though he never actually broke any bodies. 

As for the accident, it was almost like it never happened. 

“Nervous?” Jeralt’s voice cut through Berith’s thoughts. 

“A little.” He admitted. “Though it’s nothing that can’t be dealt with.” 

“That’s my boy.” Jeralt rested a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve grown so much.” 

Berith looked up, glancing at his father who smiled back. “I still have a long way to go.” 

“True,” Jeralt hummed. “But don’t disregard what progress you’ve made.” 

They made it to the lobby entrance before Berith could answer back.

“Hey! Cap’ and Bobby!” A familiar shock of brown hair came into view. “Over here!” 

Alois was waving at the exit right near the dojang’s entrance. “We’re up in five minutes. I was afraid something got you guys caught up. I only have an hour, unfortunately, until I need to go to coach the Equestrian folks.” 

“Nope.” Jeralt said. “You have the pads?” 

“Yeah.” He gestured to the two hand pads on the ground. He turned to Berith. “I think they said you can start your warmups on that side and when a spot opens up we’ll call you back.”

Berith nodded. “Thank you, excuse me then.” 

The dojang was probably just slightly larger than a football field, meaning it was larger than any other tournament he had been in. Usually they were in a small room, or on a padded basketball court. Most of them were at max five hundred seats. Here, there had to be at least a few thousand, surrounding the area. The floor was lined with the normal blue padding in the center, the rest was similar but colored red to draw people’s attention towards the center. 

A few others were also warming up. Their faces furrowed, deep in thought, so Berith decided to stay near the edge and begin stretching away from them. 

In reality he began with some deep breathing, to center the nervousness coursing through his body and to stabilize him. His mother had always told him that breathing was one of the most important activities a person can do. Not only did it regulate blood pressure, but could relieve stress and anxiety. 

Like most things his mother said, Berith took it to heart, and always began his warm ups this way. Next, he focused on the lower body, mostly the hip joints. He bounced in place a few times before doing some upper body and arm stretches. 

He got through a set of practice kicks when he was finally called over. 

“You ready?” Alois asked and positioned his hand pads outwards. 

Berith looked around the stadium before his eyes landed back on the man in front of him. He smiled, “Let’s do this.” 

\------

They were allotted thirty minutes to take center stage and it was enough time for Berith to find a comfortable grove and relax. 

Alois would shout what he should do and that it was his goal for all of his kicks to be instinctual. If there was an opening, his spinning hook kick to the head would snipe a good amount of points in a short time. They worked light, the basic front and side kicks that were speedy and could gain him some space. 

Jeralt would give his input occasionally, and time moved quickly.

“Alright!” Alois put the body pad down as his phone timer rang. “Good warm up, eh? Different then the dojang back home.” 

“Very.” Berith agreed. 

“You know,” his coach tucked the pad under his arm and gestured towards the edge so the next group could go on. As they moved off Berith could see Jeralt was talking to some of the coaches. “I remember a time your father and I first went to the Olympics together. He was my coach then too, it’s crazy how time flies. One moment I’m being taught and the next I’m teaching others!” 

Berith raised his eyebrows. He unstrapped his helmet and tucked it underneath his arm.“Jeralt coached you?” 

“Yeah!” Alois grinned. “He was like a second father honestly, took me under his wing when I was young and confused with no direction.” 

Berith always knew Alois had a relationship with his father but he never quite knew the extent. “Huh. What did you focus on again?”

“Ah, I did pretty much everything Jeralt did, but my passion lied with horses.” He smiled. “Should’ve realized when I tried boxing and got my nose broken that it wasn't my thing. No matter! It’s always better to try something than never doing it in the first place.”

“Wise words.” Berith said and Alois just laughed. 

He looked at his watch. “Good I think I have enough time to say what I want. Speaking of wise words, I wanted to give you some advice.” 

Here it was. The younger man braced himself as Alois squared his shoulders. 

“I have seen many things throughout my years here, and I have to say working with you has been like working with a brother.” He began. “I’ve seen you grow from a small boy into a strapping young man, and I feel honored to have the experience.” 

Berith blinked, wait, was he crying? His shoulders had begun to drop and shake.

“I-I just hope that you’ll u-use what I’ve taught you well into the ring and-” Ah, yep, he was crying. “D-don’t forget..” 

Berith patted the other man’s shoulder. “It’s alright, Alois. Thank you. I, uh, really have learned from you as well.” 

Alois sniffed as he wiped his eyes. “Aw come here!” He encased Berith with a tight hug. 

“O-Okay, Alois,” Berith patted his back. The hug began to last a little too long. “Can’t breath!” 

“Sorry, sorry.” As Berith was released, Alois sniffled; a long, wet sniff while he wiped the snot away with the back of his hand. His eyes were red but at least he wasn’t crying anymore. He peered down at his watch. “Ah! I have to head back. I’ll be watching when you take the dojang. Remember to breathe.” He said with a beaming smile. 

“I will.” Berith gave him a determined nod. “Thank you again. Will you be alright?”

Alois squared his shoulders. “I’ll be alright. Nothing will defeat me! Not even remembering when I first witnessed your tournament.” Tears welled at the corner of his eyes, but he shook his head before they grew any bigger. “No matter! I bid you farewell.” 

He left with a single pat on Berith's shoulder. The dark haired adult felt a little loss at the sudden switch of emotion but shrugged it off. Alois was… well, Alois, and he was good at heart. 

Jeralt appeared a moment later. He swore as he looked around. “Alois already left? I guess I took too long. Did he talk to you?” 

“Half through tears but yes, he did.” 

Jeralt chuckles. “Sounds like him. Feel a little better after the warm up?”

“Yes, definitely different from normal but it felt comfortable nonetheless.” 

“Good.” This time Jeralt placed a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s get out of here until it’s time. Think there's a few hours. I guess I’ll talk to you alone as well.”

They walked out of the stadium. Silence was thick between them as the fighter waited for his father to speak.

Finally, after what felt like ages, Jeralt made a sound and stopped. 

“I’m proud of you, Berith.” 

Berith glanced up at Jeralt. He looked a little sad. 

“I know I don’t tell you as much, but I really am. You’ve matured in fighting and in honor.” Jeralt roughly ran a hand through his fluffy hair. “I’m glad you chose to do this. I know how hard it was in the beginning, with everything. I, uh, yeah.” He sighed. “Yeah. That’s all I have to say.” 

Berith gave him a small smile. “Thanks, Dad.” 

Jeralt, after visibly relaxing, smiled back. “No problem.” 

The walk back to the locker rooms was peaceful.

\------

Berith knew his mother was busy. She was the head nurse after all, and injuries were prone to happen in the Olympics; from small cuts to muscle tears to more extensive issues, his mother was required to oversee all of them. 

He always felt special whenever he saw her, and her face would turn into a gentle smile and lighten up, a small crinkle at the eyes that was unnoticeable to those who didn’t know her like her family did. It warmed him, in a different way than winning ever did. 

She was waiting for him next to the hydration station. Her hair was done up in a low pony and she wore her normal nurse uniform. 

“There he is,” She said, glowing as Berith got closer. They hugged. “My sweets. How have you been?”

“Anxious.” Berith admitted. There were only two hours until the match and energy had begun coursing through his body. “I’m glad I was able to see you before going into the ring.” 

“Me too, honey, it’s been getting more active as the competitions go by.” Sitiri frowned. “Have you seen Byleth recently? I’m getting a little worried. I’ve heard from some of the staff she’s been over exerting herself.” 

“I saw her before I went into the dojang.” Berith said. “She seemed okay, though.” He furrowed his eyebrows. “Mm, maybe a little tired looking, but still active as anything.” 

Sitri hummed, “If you see her again could you ask her to come and find me? I’d like to talk to her.” 

“Of course.” Berith nodded. 

“Anyways,” Sitiri was smiling again and it made Berith smile. She handed him a cloth bag. “I brought you a banana, granola, and water. I hope it’ll be enough to tide you over. I’m very excited to see you on the big screen.” 

“Thank you.” He peeked in and took out the banana. “I hope it will go as smoothly as the last tournament I was in.” 

“You’ll be fine, Berith.” His mother rested a hand on his arm. “You’ve grown.”

“Dad and Alois said the same thing.” He said with a laugh. He began peeling the banana from the bottom. “Alois ended up crying.” 

“Aw that softy.” Sitiri said. “I’m glad he was able to get to see you before.” She let his arm go and gestured to an empty bench. “Would you like to sit?” 

“Sure,” Berith nodded and they moved to take a seat. “How has everyone been doing?” The sun was bright, but the bench was conveniently shaded under a tree. 

“Overall everyone’s been on their toes.” Sitiri sighed. “It was a slow start, but you know how things are.” 

Berith nodded. “I stopped by a few days ago to get some bandaids for a blister on my foot and people were running everywhere.” 

She laughed, lightly. “Yep, sounds about right.” 

They sat in a comfortable silence. It was nice, because they never needed to speak. Their presence was enough. Berith glanced over to his mother, who had her eyes closed.

He was transported to years ago, when he was fourteen and had been at one of his first junior tournaments. His mother had sat next to him, much like now. 

They were waiting for him to go on. He was anxious, his knee bouncing and his fingers were cold even with all of his gear on. 

A few days before he had just perfected his spinning hook kick, and man, was he so excited. His legs were long enough to hit someone’s head without stretching too high, but the new growth also brought new challenges which he was just beginning to figure out.

He watched the fight with rapt attention. The two up fighting were older, probably late teens. They were evenly matched, for what Berith could tell as they were going back and forth with their kicks at lighting speed. 

They began with lighter trades, a front kick, side kick, a few fake outs. Soon they went further, now spinning axe kick, a spinning hook, a knee strike. 

Suddenly, there was a crunch. A head snapping to the left.

The world seemed to stop as the left fighter dropped like a sack of rocks.

Berith watched with wide eyes. Everyone held their breath as the referee sprinted forward. She held two fingers to his pulse. 

“We need a medic.” The referee shouted. The crowd around him began to murmur. 

Before Berith knew it, his mother was gone from his side and had rushed down. “Stay here, honey.” She had grabbed her coat. When she got close enough, the referee looked up and they spoke to each other in whispers. She then immediately began tending to the downed fighter.

“Mom?” Berith felt glued to his set. He could see her face, full of determination as she began checking the teen. 

He wanted to be like that. He wanted-

“Berith?” He blinked, and he was back on the bench. Shaking his head slowly, he looked over. “You alright honey? You zoned out.” 

“I’m alright.” He blinked again.

The fighter had had a concussion from the spinning hook kick. It healed, of course, but the initial shock had put the match on hold. After Sitiri had come back she hugged Berith, as tight as she could. 

What an odd memory. 

Sitri was looking at him quizzically. He smiled at her. “Just… remembering.” 

“Good things, I hope.” She said and he nodded again. 

The sun was still bright and now there was a light breeze that blew over the area. “All good things.” 

\------

“-And this will be an interesting match up, many great fighters out here today.” 

“You’re certainly right, Seteth.” Rhea clapped her hands together. “I wish everyone may have an enlightening experience here. I hope to see some great matches. Taekwondo is a matter of speed, technique, and honor. It will be interesting to see how each person takes these and uses them to their advantage.” 

“Certainly,” Seteth nodded. “There are some super stars in the crowd tonight. I hear Armen Revyn, three time champion from Fort Dawnguard will be someone to look at, as well as Berith ‘Bob’ Eisner, two time gold champion for Garreg Mach.” 

“Indeed, may the fastest fighter win!”

\------

Waiting was always the worst. Even after years of fighting, the seconds ticked down like minutes. 

He had already fought a handful of rounds. Winning them, but not by enough. One or two points, some just because the other fell, or because Jeralt called for a review.

Sixth match of the day, and Berith didn’t know what to feel. He didn’t know what to focus on. Should he practice? Should he relax? He needed to get into the mindset again, but how? When? 

He sat watching the other matches, all the way in the back. Two more rounds until he had to cue up. 

He looked away, and looked down. Something in his chest was tight. 

There was a thud next to him. He picked up his head to see a familiar shock of dark hair. 

“Hey, Bob.” Byleth said. 

“...Hey.” He answered. Byleth frowned. 

They sat in silence. 

“Dad told me you were avoiding him?” 

Berith sighed. “I’m not avoiding him.” 

“He hasn’t seen you since the last match.” He could feel his sister’s eyes on him. “That sounds like avoiding to me.”

“I just… can’t deal with them right now.” He gritted his teeth. “I love Dad. I really do, and he’s my coach, but sometimes it feels like he can’t turn it off.” 

Byleth didn’t say anything. 

Berith closed his eyes. “It was wearing on me.” 

“Have you told him?” Byleth asked. 

Berith shook his head. “He’s only trying to help, there’s no point in me complaining about it.”

“But it matters to you,” she said. “and you know Dad. He’s not always the best at doing what he’s told, but he will try to work with you.”

“Easy for you to say.” Berith muttered. “He listens to you more.”

“And Mom does the same for you.” Byleth shot back. “But it’s worth a try.” 

They both fell silent again. It was a little more uncomfortable than before. 

“I’m sorry.” Berith broke the silence. “I think the stress is getting to me.”

“I’m sorry too.” Byleth sighed. “The pressure sucks.”

Berith bit his lip. “I’m tired of it.” He admitted. “I’m tired of just, I don’t know, the performance expectations.” 

“Yeah.” Byleth agreed. “But you know what? I think it’s worth it.”

Berith raised an eyebrow and glanced at her. “Really?”

She nodded. “I like being seen.” She said. “Makes me feel less... alone.” 

“You know you can always talk to me though, right?” Berith turned to her. She wasn’t looking at him. “I’m not always the best, but-” 

“You have your own struggles.” Byleth shifted forward and leaned her head on his shoulder. “Bobby, this is your day. Don’t worry about me.” 

“Byleth-” 

“Berith.” 

He closed his mouth. 

“Calm down and listen to me.” She smiled. There was a softness at the edges, similar to Sitri’s. “You’re like mom. You always worry about me when you have so much more on your plate. I’m okay.” 

Berith frowned and looked away. “It’s hard not to, when you say stuff like that.” 

“Then, I’m sorry for that.” Byleth lifted her head from his shoulder. “But can I give you a piece of advice?” 

Her brother blinked. “Sure.”

“Maybe don’t fight for Dad, or Alois, or Mom. Fight for yourself.” She said, standing up. “Everyone has opinions, but it’s your responsibility to figure out your own. If you don’t like how Dad’s been acting, tell him. He’ll understand.” 

Berith stared at her. After a moment he sighed, then nodded. “Alright. I’ll talk to him.” 

“Good.” She ruffled his hair. He grumbled. “Stop watching the competitions. It’ll stress you out more than you already are.” 

“Okay, okay.” He stood as well. He paused, looking at her. “And thanks.” 

She gave him another lopsided smile. “No problem, Bobby. I’ll be here.” 

He hesitated before wrapping his arms around her. “I appreciate it.” He whispered. 

He could do this.

\------

Berith stared into the stadium crowd, slightly terrified. This was it. This was his time. He had made it. He looked up at Jeralt who just grinned down at him, patting him on the shoulder. They were stationed in the long hallway, waiting for his name to be announced. 

He had talked to his father, briefly, about loosening the coaching. Jerat had nodded, giving him a pat on the shoulder, and told him they would speak about it when they had more time. It wasn’t a definite end, but one step was better than none.

Currently, he stood in the running for gold. Four matches had come and gone. Each one had been just as challenging as the last. He had won, though, with one part skill one part sheer determination. 

The judges panel sat at the front, a variety of people he had only heard of by name and recognized some of them by face. He looked past that, scanning the crowd. To the far right he saw three familiar faces. His mother was chatting with Jeritza, who was sitting next to her. Byleth was on Sitri’s other side, looking just as intrigued at the taller man. 

Berith huffed, and shook his head to clear the oncoming embarrassment. That was for later. 

“Breathe.” Jeralt’s voice cut through Berith’s thoughts. The fighter was bouncing in his spot with energy, excitement, and anxiety. “You’ve done this, hundreds of times before.” 

Berith let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Yeah.” He said softly. 

“In Blue, from Fodlan, is Berith Bob Eisner!” The crowd cheered as Berith steeled himself. With a burst of confidence he walked out of the side, waving. 

There were more people in the crowd than the few bouts before. Instead of the obvious empty patches of seats, now most were filed. 

He glanced over to where his mother, sister, and friend were sitting and were cheering. Byleth, making obnoxious hollering sounds, almost shoved the person sitting to her right. 

Berith smiled and moved towards his designated area. He set his head gear down on the bench and shook his arms out. Jeralt handed him a water bottle, which he uncapped and sipped. 

“In Red, from Fort Dawnguard, is Armen Revyn!” 

Armen stood in red on the other side. He was tall, much taller than Berith. Buzzed hair close to the scalp. His eyebrows were thick and set in a furrow. Broader chest, but not as solid, or compact. There was a bandaid across his nose. 

Berith could already tell his speed and height could be an advantage. He was most likely quicker than his opponent; and if he were close then Armen would have a hard time getting a shot in. On the other hand, they could be just as easily turned against him. Armen’s leg length made it easier for him to hit at a distance, and no amount of speed could help with a misjudged miss.

Let's do this, Berith thought. Jeralt tapped him on the shoulder and he looked up. 

“Quick shots.” His father said. “Focus on easier points to get a feel. Watch for his hook kicks.” They had watched Armen’s performance as the semi-finals grew closer. He was nothing but ruthless. Showering his opponents with tap shots right off the bat. 

Berith was prepared for his opponent’s techniques as much as he could get. He had to remind himself that anything could happen. All he knew was his own skills, so keeping an open mind was key. 

“Ready?” Jeralt asked. Berith nodded. He could hear the announcers chatting about him and his background. There was a beep, signalling it was time to go. Quickly, Jeralt encased him in a tight hug. “Go for Gold.” 

“I will.” Berith muttered, grabbing his helmet, then stepping onto the ring. 

The referee was not someone Berith knew, but definitely one of the staff. He nodded at Berith as he approached. Armen was already standing. 

“Ready?” He asked them both. They nodded. 

“Good skill.” Berith said, holding out his gloved hand. 

“Good skill.” Armen nodded, shaking his hand. 

They took a step sideways, bowing to their opponent’s teachers. Customary for respect, for honor. 

They went to their separate sides. Berith hiked up his pony tail and slipped on his helmet. It always felt constricting, his vision was mildly impared as well, the top thick to protect against the force of someone’s weight. 

It was comforting. And annoying. But the pressure around his head reminded him he was actually here. 

“Here we are folks!” He heard the announcers say. “The sixty eight kilogram Men’s final is about to begin!” 

They bow again, before getting into their stances. Berith began to bounce as he focused on Armen’s chest. 

“Go!” The referee shouted. 

Instantly the air shifted. Berith could feel his heart beating in his chest. 

Armen started bouncing as well. He shifted, moving forwards, and sent a side kick. 

Berith parried it with his hand, bouncing once before shooting his own kick. 

They began their dance, trading kicks back and forth. Most were sidekicks, as it was too early on for more difficult techniques, each combatant sizing the other up. 

Armen centered himself, and in an instant began a flurry of more complex kicks. Instead of his usual hand parry, Berith ducked, then shot out a spinning back kick. It landed with a thud on the trunk protector, sending his opponent back. Four points. The referee called for them to restart at the center.

The technique began to escalate after. Berith landed a quick punch on the chest before attacking with a hook. Armen backed up, shooting out a hook to the head. Unable to move out of the way in time, Berith tried to dodge but failed and the blow staggered him backwards. 

They reset, and Berith shook off the disorientation. That was three points. He was still standing, a personal point in his book.

It was okay though, it was only the first round. Those two minutes flew by as Berith’s focus intensely narrowed on his breathing and his options.  
  
He sent out a spinning hook, but it wasn’t close enough to hit. His opponent threw a side kick, trying to block and score, which prompted Berith to use his momentum to throw himself forward. Luckily, Armen missed the landing, and they ended up too close for either to score. They ‘hugged’, signalling a reset. 

Two more jabs back and forth. Armen landed a kick to the chest. Two points for him.

The buzzer sounded and the referee broke them up. They were both sweating as they took off their headgear and moved to their spots off the platform. 

A water bottle was shoved into his hand as he breathed heavily through his nose. 

“You’re doing well.” Jeralt rested a hand on his shoulder. “You’re at four points. Armen has five.”

“That head hit caught me off guard.” Berith choked out as he tried to down his water in one go. The padding was hot and heavy. “Reading him is only half the battle.” 

“It’s alright.” His father said. He looked calm, and Berith fed from his steadiness. “This was only the first match. Keep yourself alert. Narrowing your vision will make you miss more shots.” 

Berith nodded. 

Alois laid a cold ice pack on his neck. It felt like a blessing. “Yeah, a match can go either way. Remember that.” 

The buzzer sounded again. Berith breathed out and stood up. Slipping on his head gear he nodded to his father and Alois before stepping back onto the stage. 

They touched gloves as the second bout began. 

Berith decided to try offensive this time. He switched his stance, trying to get Armen off guard, then threw a few test kicks before a hook to the head. 

The line up made his opponent back up considerably, though there was no landing. 

Armen sent his own flurry of kicks back. Spinning hook to a roundhouse. There was a moment when Berith didn’t move fast enough and he landed a punch. One point. Right after he also landed another sidekick. Two points. 

Berith managed to fight back. Gaining those points by doing a tornado kick, then using his momentum to aim a roundhouse kick to the head. Three points. He executed another chest punch after. One point. 

They tried to bait each other. Both of them were breathing heavily as the timer ticked down the seconds. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the referee telling them to fight. 

So he did. 

He propelled his weight forward, gaining momentum to attempt a flying side kick to the head. Armen batted the foot with his hand and moved to strike the torso. 

Berith shifted gears, and instead of continuing he moved with a spinning side kick to the head at the same time his opponent threw a roundhouse to the chest. 

They both hit. 

Berith felt his foot slip from underneath him as Armen’s weight forced him downwards. He landed with an ooph. One point penalty for falling. 

The referee began counting down from ten, but it only took him a second before he was bouncing on his feet again. The referee looked him over before nodding. 

They regained their stance, and the timer began. They barely moved before the buzzer sounded, signalling the second round was over. 

Berith staggered back to his corner, once again taking off his helmet. His hair felt sticky and sweat dripped down his face. 

As he sat down, Jeralt instantly began dabbing his forehead. “Another great round. You’re both even. “

“I wish I didn’t fall though,” Berith said with a heavy sigh. He tried to wipe the matted hair out of his face but failed and whipped the sweat on his pants. 

“You made up the points.” His father poured some water onto the towel and dabbed it. “He’s getting tired too. This is the moment where you can give your all. I think he’s begun fighting more defensively than he was before, so watch out for his attacks. I can tell he’s biding his time and you should as well.” 

The young fighter nodded. He shook his head as he took in a deep breath. 

“Keep trying to get through his defense, when he breaks it you’re as good as gold.” Jeralt chuckled. 

Berith took a swig of his water. 

The buzzer sounded and for the last time he stood. His father patted his forehead again with the cold towel before he strapped on his helmet. 

“Breathe.” He said. 

“Of course.” Berith answered. He bounced on his feet before walking back to the stage.

The third round was always the most intense. He remembered the first time he moved up to junior leagues, when his gear was always a little too large for his body size. It would weigh him down, would make him feel heavy, so unlike when he practiced at home in the workout room with his father. 

The weight became uncomfortable in his first junior league match. It was fine, the first two rounds, fine when he had enough energy to kick fast. 

But it was the third round that was rough. The seconds ticked by achingly slow and every muscle burned. He had pushed through, focusing on the new skills and new length he acquired after his growth spurt the month before. 

He had collapsed after that final round, a winner, but more exhausted than he had ever felt. 

In the present day Berith was taller, stronger. He had more endurance than his younger self. But now instead of physical burn out, it was mental burn out that lingered with him. Predicting movements to a tee, planning, understanding the opponent before they could understand themselves. 

Letting out a breath, Berith touched gloves. 

This would be it.

“Go!” 

\------

This wasn’t it, Berith thought as he eyed Armen. He had switched stances again, favoring his left foot for kicks instead of his right. 

They both had tried to score multiple times. Each time they would block or pivot away. No one had gained a point. It must have been half way, and the pressure in the back of Berith’s mind was trying to consume him. He realized the feeling manifested as anger. Anger at himself, at not doing enough, not _being_ enough. 

He didn’t let it, though. He forced himself to focus. There was no point in getting distracted. 

He wasn’t that eight year old boy who fought with unbridled anger. 

He had control. He was in control.

He lashed out with a flurry of kick combinations. Armen sent back a front kick which blocked them, jamming their knees together. To create space, Berith used momentum to try sending a spinning back kick but it missed when Armen pushed back 

Berith switched stances as both of them backed away from each other. Bouncing, he leaned forward, trying to decide what the next move would be. 

Armen decided for him, and his body moved fluently into a spinning hook. Berith deflected it before trying to get a punch to the torso. His opponent stepped to the side and the punch also missed.

They ended up ‘hugging’ again, hands open to show they weren’t grabbing. The referee called it and let them res.

It was fun, though surprising, that they hadn’t been able to score. In any case it meant they were equally powered. 

At this point, the fight might go into overtime, extending an extra minute for the tie breaker. 

Berith hoped it didn’t come to that. 

They bounced, taking jabs every so often. 

The announcers were loud over the speakers. He was becoming more aware of their chattering as the match went on. Maybe it was the fluctuation of their voice, or even his mental exhaustion starting to overpower his ability to focus. 

Either way he could hear the words seconds, minutes, no hits. They echoed into the stadium and his head as he pushed forward. 

Hook kick, spin, back kick. The list went on as he forced his opponent back. 

There was a split second and Armen attacked, pushing _Berith_ backwards. 

Still no points. No hits. 

There was a loud buzz and the match ended. 

The referee had them reset, the one minute deathmatch was about to begin. 

Berith felt the sweat drip from his forehead. A drop went into his eye and it stung like hell. His body ached. He was determined though. Through the roar of the crowd he could hear his family’s voice shouting encouraging cheers. 

“One minute.” The referee said and they both nodded. Armen looked just as exhausted as Berith felt. His guard, while defensive, was not as tight. 

The buzzer sounded for the last time. “Fight!” 

Immediately Armen was on offense, throwing a spinning hook to the head. Berith ducked, trying to move forward and send his own attack. 

All it would take was one hit. One hit then it was over. 

He tried to deliver a punch to the torso, but his opponent twisted out of the way and sent a back kick to the upper body. 

Berith quickly stepped back. He took a deep breath, trying to pull himself together. 

Armen was back on him in a flash, sending a flying side kick followed up with a kick to the torso then head. 

Just barely managing to dodge the latter Berith swallowed as he took the opportunity to get in close. He attempted a knee strike, but Armen jammed it once again with his thigh and pushed him back, forcing him away. 

Berith hissed and changed stance. He decided to attack. 

Jump axe kick to the head. He landed, spinning for a hook. It flew too high over Armen’s head and time seemed to slow as his opponent leaned back and sent out a roundhouse kick. 

It landed, clear as day as the thud resonated through Berith’s torso. The buzzer sounded. The crowd was going wild, Armen’s team screaming. 

Berith stood, breathing heavily as the referee bounded over to the judges who had called him. 

He took off his helmet with a huff, feeling disappointment sitting in his gut until there was a tap on his shoulder. 

He looked up. Armen was grinning at him. “Great fight. I would love to train with you some time.”

Berith blinked before matching his grin, “You as well, there’s a lot I could learn from you.” 

Armen laughed, “Thank you, but it was a lucky shot. Let’s talk later, we can have our coaches set something up.”

Berith nodded. “It would be an honor.” He held out his hand. 

Armen grabbed it, then pulled him into a hug. Patting him heartily on the back, he said, “A great fight.”

“A great fight.” Berith echoed. Armen released him as the referee walked back. 

“The winner of the taekwondo championship is Armen Revyn!”

The crowd cheered. Berith sighed, but smiled as he spotted his mother, Jeritza, and Byleth all looking at him. 

It was disappointing, sure. It was never fun to lose, but something warmed in his chest as he stood on that stage. 

Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was joy. 

Whatever it was, Berith knew he would remember it forever. 

\------

“I hear you’re retiring?” 

Berith turned to see Byleth walking towards him. 

The medal ceremony had come and gone. He had stood on the pedestal with flowers that Alois had abruptly shoved into his hands while sobbing. As the silver was placed around his neck, he beamed. Pride coursing through his body as the crowd was cheering. 

When the ceremony ended, he met his parents and sister with a hug so warm nothing could beat it. 

There was a scheduled after party later that evening. There was packing and organizing that still needed to be done, and he had promised Jerizta that he would watch the first half of his practice, so he lingered. 

He smiled at her. 

She raised an eyebrow. “Getting too old already?”

“Not retiring.” Berith said with a shrug. “Refocusing. I’ll keep doing competitions to keep up my chops, but I think I want to study sports medicine.” 

“Really.” Byleth was stationed next to him. 

They watched through the window as the pool below them was teeming with swimmers. One familiar figure caught his eye as he talked with the others. 

She raised an eyebrow. “When did this come up.” 

“A memory.” Berith answered. “You said to fight for myself but… Fighting has always been something I’ve fallen back on. I want to help people, not be another opponent to them.” Fighting had taught him so many things. Patience, drive, _purpose_ … but what if there was something more personal he could help with?

He wanted something more. Something fighting wasn’t giving him. Something like what his mother had. Was it bravery? 

Maybe it was a dream that wasn’t meant for him, maybe he should still stick to what he knew. But he had nothing to lose, his life had just started. 

Byleth stared at him, unblinking, before closing her eyes and shaking her head. She was smiling. 

“Alright.” She said then crosses her arms. “Does that mean you’ll help me when Mom’s not around?” 

“Sure,” He answered. “Though give it a few years. It’s going to be a process.” 

“I’ll hold you to it.” Byleth rolled her eyes. 

“I’m sure you will.” He gave a small chuckle. They sat in silence for a few seconds longer. Berith just drank the relief of not having to get up extra early tomorrow. 

“Are you ready to head out?” They both turned to see Jeralt and Sitri. 

“I am.” Berith’s eyes flickered back down to the pool before turning. 

“Same.” Byleth stretched. 

“Then let us go.” Sitri smiled. “Alois is waiting for us. There’s supposed to be a celebratory meal for the fighters. Are you okay with fish?”

Berith took in the sight of his family. Jeralt waiting expectantly. Byleth, who was practically salivating over the idea of fish, and Sitri looking at him, waiting for him to reply. 

He smiled, “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

**Author's Note:**

> The 2020 Fodlan Olympics are off!! Please take a look at the others in the series if you haven't already, they're incredible! 
> 
> Thank you to LinaLuthor for betaing! It helped so much ;v;
> 
> And thank you, The_Unqualified1 and Avaryss_Ashley for letting me be apart of this amazing collaboration. 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy, and there's more to come!


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